vertigo is not such a foreign feeling
feeling at transition
the only voice, water, white-noise
all things flow into me
red rust crinkles under my knuckles, is caught in the sun, sparkles a
moment as it is lifted, and upward breaks with the horizon, the world, is
lost in the sun and lonely blue empty sky
The earth, like reality, wants to pull me to it's bosom
and force me to nurse on bitter elixir.
I cannot hear you my beautiful lie
wind provides a symphony of despair.
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